


Getting The Dee

by Connlonges



Series: Group Chats of the Ulster Cycle [2]
Category: Irish Mythology, Longes mac nUislenn, Ulster Cycle
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pegging, Sex Toys, but still some smut i guess dear god why is this happening to me, conall is an enabler, conall rides a motorbike, dee has big dick energy, group chats of the ulster cycle, high ratio of shenanigans to smut, leborcham taught deirdre about pegging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Connlonges/pseuds/Connlonges
Summary: This is saved on my computer as 'dick fic mac nuislenn' and I hate everything that led me to this moment.Having fled Ireland after The Great Politics Department Schism of last academic year (aka Conchobar being a creep), with some help from Scáthach and her various ~connections~, Deirdre and Naoise are embarking on life in a cottage on the Isle of Skye and trying to forget all the drama that went down. But island life has some limitations, especially when they haven't yet got the internet set up, and Dee enlists Conall's help...This fic is a prequel to 'In Loco Parentis', but given that I started writing it roughly around chapter 22 of ILP, it assumes you know backstory up to and including what had been revealed as of that point. It takes place shortly before the start of ILP, with some overlap between the later parts of this fic (not yet written) and the start of ILP.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildandWhirling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/gifts).

> Part of a Cursed Fic exchange. Blame the Muddle Ages. This, like everything else, is their fault.

**Conall**: hey dee you alive

**Conall**: ???

**Conall**: maybe you changed your phone number. did you change your phone number?

**Conall**: right, you wouldn’t be able to answer me

**Conall**: texts aren’t bouncing, though. so either you’re ignoring me, or…

**Conall**: please don’t be dead in a ditch, dee

**Conall**: i’d have to avenge your death and i’m far too beautiful to go to jail for murder

**Conall**: hey dee do you think there’s a specific word for when you kill your uncle. like fratricide, but… not.

**Conall**: avuncucide

**Conall**: is that a thing?

**Conall**: i really don’t want to have to commit unclecide, dee

**Conall**: i tried texting naoise but i’m like. at least 20% sure he’s had my number blocked for the past year because i wouldn’t stop sending him memes

**Conall**: so HIS silence doesn’t mean he’s dead/he hates me. yours, though…

**Conall**: it’s been two weeks and you’re still not replying

**Conall**: i thought scáthach was getting you out of the country. she said you were safe. did you get eaten by – by bears or selkies or whatever the main hazards are in the hebrides?

**Conall**: so i looked it up and apparently there are no bears on skye. i’m relieved but also disappointed.

**Conall**: maybe there’s also no signal. is THAT what the problem is?

**Conall**: whatever. i’ll just keep texting you every day until you reply. or until i see your death in the newspaper.

**Conall**: are you living under an assumed name? maybe you’re already dead and i just don’t know because it’s reported as _desdemona _or _doreen_ or some other terrible old lady name

**Conall**: dorothy

**Conall**: then we could all be friends of dorothy

**Conall**: you know i always thought naoise was gay, but i guess it’s just that he’s a folk singer. easy mistake to make.

**Conall**: you never looked much like a dorothy, tho, dee

**Conall**: but then you didn’t look like a dead person either

**Conall**: i should probably stop texting you

**Conall**: i saw scáthach today. she said you weren’t dead last time she saw you. also said there’s not a lot of signal. that’s good, i guess. the not-dead thing.

**Conall**: you know, i’m gonna be in scotland in a couple of weeks anyway. it wouldn’t be THAT much of a diversion to come by yours.

**Conall**: well i mean it WOULD but like. it’s possible. i could get your address from scáthach

**Conall**: if you don’t reply to my messages i might legit do that

**Conall**: just. turn up on your doorstep. WHAT COULD GO WRONG.

**Conall**: okay i have your address. scáthach is terrifying, i’m not surprised she knew how to smuggle people out of the country

**Conall**: she’s probably in the mafia

**Conall**: omg maybe she’s training assassins in those ballet classes of hers. like black widow.

**Conall**: anywayyyyyyy i am coming to check if you’re dead. you’ve been warned

**Conall**: or you could message me back

**Conall**: your call

**Conall**: …

**Conall**: five days left.

**Conall**: four

**Conall**: three

**Dee**: oh my GOD  
**Dee**: DUDE have you seriously been texting me daily for over a month?!  
**Dee**: MORE THAN FORTY UNREAD MESSAGES yikes  
**Dee**: we only just fixed the power, my phone’s been dead for weeks

**Conall**: i thought YOU were dead!

**Dee**: yes I gathered that!!  
**Dee**: not dead, naoise isn’t dead either, nobody is dead

**Conall**: excellent news  
**Conall**: so i should cancel my trip to skye?

**Dee**: well.  
**Dee**: now that you mention it.  
**Dee**: there are a few things we’ve been finding it hard to get hold of.

**Conall**: i’m not a postman

**Dee**: I know that

**Conall**: that didn’t sound very convincing

**Dee**: Conall, may I formally invite you to come and stay with us, free of charge, in exchange for help obtaining a few things?

**Conall**: that’s not TECHNICALLY free of charge

**Dee**: okay well fuck off then

**Conall**: oh so you don’t want me to come

**Dee**: …  
**Dee**: should’ve just left you on read

**Conall**: but you LOVE me

**Dee**: I TOLERATE you, for naoise’s sake

**Conall**: oh well that’s a blatant lie  
**Conall**: naoise and i have been at odds ever since the Great Meme War; he’d easily accept our enmity. no, you looooooove me.

**Dee**: goddamn it Conall  
**Dee**: do you want to come and stay

**Conall**: i mean i wouldn’t say no

**Dee**: right okay good  
**Dee**: I need you to bring me a strap-on

**Conall**: …  
**Conall**: …  
**Conall**: i’m sorry i’m gonna need you to repeat that

**Dee**: this is a text conversation you know damn well what I said

**Conall**: …  
**Conall**: WHY

**Dee**: well there isn’t exactly a shop here and we don’t have internet yet so I can’t order online

**Conall**: no i mean  
**Conall**: WHY DO YOU NEED ONE

**Dee**: conall  
**Dee**: why the fuck do you THINK

**Conall**: …  
**Conall**: OKAY, a point  
**Conall**: but  
**Conall**: does naoise know??

**Dee**: … not yet 😈

**Conall**: jfc

**Dee**: I’m sure naoise would love it if you could come and stay  
**Dee**: he misses you all so much

**Conall**: are you GUILT-TRIPPING me?

**Dee**: why, is it working

**Conall**: damn you woman  
**Conall**: i could just come and stay anyway, couldn’t i?

**Dee**: never took you for a prude, conall

**Conall**: i’m not it’s just… this isn’t really my area of expertise! and i’m not at all sure i’m comfortable being this… involved… in your private life!!!

**Dee**: there’s no one else I can ask

**Conall**: fergus??

**Dee**: he’s busy with phd stuff, he’s not gonna come and visit

**Conall**: but he’d know what to get

**Dee**: conall  
**Dee**: do you REALLY think I’d trust fergus’s judgment on something like this

**Conall**: and you trust mine?!

**Dee**: I trust you to listen to what I ask you for rather than relying on your own depraved tastes

**Conall**: now hang on a minute

**Dee**: i’m saying fergus is depraved, not you

**Conall**: …  
**Conall**: okay, fair

**Dee**: his perspective is DEEPLY SKEWED, okay

**Conall**: just want to put it out there that i’m still viscerally uncomfortable about this entire conversation

**Dee**: I know  
**Dee**: but you love me  
**Dee**: and you want to do me a favour

**Conall**: …

**Dee**: you texted me every day for over a month even though I didn’t reply

**Conall**: yeah, so i’ve clearly done my duty as a friend

**Dee**: conall

**Conall**: dee

**Dee**: PLEASE

**Conall**: FINE  
**Conall**: but also, I hate you

**Dee**: :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, the things Dee missed.

It wasn’t perfect.

Sure, it was a cottage nestled in a peaceful and idyllic location among mountains, with a view of the sea, some interesting ruins not too far away, and absolutely no interference from the outside world. A place where you could start again. It had land, and they’d been emphatically informed that they should consider themselves its owners as far as digging things up, hammering nails into walls, and doing whatever they needed to do to make the place theirs – a thousand miles from the draconian rental agreements of the past.

Which was to say: it was a cottage in the middle of _fucking nowhere,_ where literally everything was uphill, their nearest neighbours had been dead for a thousand years, and they couldn’t get a WiFi signal if their lives depended on it. A place you went because you had nowhere else to go. It was overgrown, shabby, and while the septic tank was _thankfully_ still functional, it had taken them several weeks to get the electricity reconnected and they’d been living by the light of a dozen solar or battery powered lamps. Scáthach had given them express permission to do whatever the hell they wanted with the place, but that was largely because it was falling apart and calling a maintenance guy to fix things was to be reserved only for legitimate emergencies, i.e., it was flooding and they were going to drown.

But sure, they could put pictures up.

The first three weeks in the cottage, Dee woke up in the morning and spent at least ten minutes staring at the ceiling and trying very hard not to cry because it would wake Naoise, who always slept later than she did. Then she’d get up, have as long a shower as she could bear (the heating was also proving temperamental, and hot water only came out of the taps if and when it deigned to do so, which was not very often), and get dressed, pretending it was fine that she hadn’t heard from any of her friends or family in weeks, had no real way of contacting them, and might as well be dead for all they knew of her.

And it was _his _fault.

It would have been worse, she reflected on week three while attempting to enjoy a breakfast of bread and butter, if her eccentric adoptive parents hadn’t brought her up in what she’d always thought was the middle of nowhere, with limited entertainment or contact with the outside world. But they’d had electricity. Internet. A couple of thousand books and a mobile library that came round to visit them not-infrequently. A fucking _toaster_, for god’s sake. And the house hadn’t been falling down, and the garden was already growing when she got old enough to care about it, so they were never surrounded by empty vegetable beds awaiting a metric fuckton of what might be termed “tender loving care” but which probably actually entailed a complete overhaul, since they’d been left untended for enough years to have almost more weeds than soil. And they’d chosen it. Their exile was voluntary.

Besides which, Donegal’s shitty infrastructure aside, what she’d thought was “the middle of nowhere” was actually at most an hour from Actual Civilisation, rather than, like, this. She knew there were Actual People living on Skye, somewhere. Actual towns and villages and shops.

But not here.

This was a mountain, and there was fuck-all nearby.

Then Naoise’s shitty car broke down, and they were more or less stranded. There was a postman, once a week, and he’d taken messages for them back to Arnadale and organised food deliveries and so on (because no electricity meant no phone, how did people even _live _like this), but other than that, they were alone.

Dee half expected field researchers from Sabhal Mòr Ostaig to come out to research their authentically old-fashioned and isolated croft existence, at this point.

So yes, breakfast was usually a… less than optimistic affair. But then Naoise would wake up, and come blearily into the kitchen, and he’d have that half-asleep look with one cheek still red with the imprint of his hand (he slept like a child, all curled up) and his black hair tousled as a bird’s nest, and he’d see her sitting at the kitchen table and every _single_ day without fail, a small shy smile would light up his face as though he thought _this time_ it would be a dream, _this time_ she’d be gone when he woke, but she wasn’t and he was thrilled about it.

It didn’t offset the rest. It couldn’t make up for no electricity and total social isolation. More than once, she’d wondered what her parents would think of her throwing away her university career to run off with a boy and live in the middle of nowhere.

But then, they’d lived in the middle of nowhere with only each other until she came along, although at least they’d had the occasional visits of one of their bohemian poet friends, who brought them books and gossip and kept them up to date with what they’d missed. When Dee got a bit older, Leborcham brought _her _books, too, and told her stories – scandalous tales that had Dee blushing furiously, so red that Leborcham would cackle with delight. At the sound of that laugh, her parents would come in – “And _what_ manner of stories are you telling her?” – but they never told her to stop. They must have known they couldn’t actually do anything about it.

In hindsight, it was only via Leborcham (both in terms of the books she brought, and the stories she told) that Deirdre actually got any sex ed whatsoever. Oh, she knew the mechanics of it; hard to live in the countryside and not figure out that people aren’t _that_ different to farm animals. But her parents seemed to forget, sometimes, that what worked for a barefooted child running wild and free in the fields, utterly unsupervised, didn’t necessarily translate to an environment conducive to raising a quick-witted young woman with a hunger to _know_ things. Their approach to ‘homeschooling’ was to leave Dee alone with a pile of books, and while this generally _worked_, she wasn’t sure what they’d have done if she’d been a less academically-minded teenager.

Maybe they wouldn’t have noticed.

Anyway, it was hard to think they’d be disappointed with the direction her life had taken. If anything, they’d just feel let down that she hadn’t already managed to rig up a solar farm in the south-facing corner of the plot, or figured out how to build a wind turbine on their roof.

Which… she was considering, if the electrician didn’t get here soon.

When they’d left (Naoise refused to let her say ‘fled’, on the basis that (a) it was the twenty-first century and (b) they weren’t _running away _because of fear, they were leaving _by choice_ to make a better go of it somewhere else, which she thought was a generous reading of the whole situation), they’d only taken what they could take as hand luggage. Scáthach promised them that the cottage had all the crockery and utensils they could need, which was arguably true. She’d also promised that she could arrange for more of their clothes and books to be shipped over from where they were currently being stored in her shed, and that had yet to materialise. The result was that Dee had barely more than a week’s worth of clothes – which had to be washed by _hand_, and she hated everything about that process. She also had her laptop (fat lot of good that was without electricity or internet), two books (both of which she’d finished), and… not a lot else.

It was funny, the things she missed.

And funny, too, the things she’d never owned that she wanted, now, when she had no way of actually _getting _them. If you’d asked her a few months ago what, if anything, she’d miss being able to buy online if all online shopping suddenly ceased to exist, her answer wouldn’t have been sex toys. Firstly, because she’d never have said that out loud to another human being in the first place. Secondly, because they weren’t something she’d particularly thought herself dependent on. She owned a vibrator (who didn’t?), but other than that, she’d been content to do things the old-fashioned way.

_And yet. _

Maybe it was Leborcham’s stories that did it. Maybe something had taken root, even while teenage Dee was blushing and trying to pretend she wasn’t interested. Maybe, if they knew, her parents would blame Leborcham and the poet would _cackle_ with delight that she’d successfully steered Dee down a less vanilla path. 

Maybe. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Without the internet, she had no outlet for any of it – no fanfic, no porn, and no way of obtaining what she needed to act on the fantasies she’d yet to confess to Naoise. 

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t spend too much time thinking about it, especially when she watched him trying (and failing) to weed the vegetable beds, or put up a shelf after the supports rotted through and it came crashing down the moment another jar was put on it, or beating the dust out of an ancient carpet.  For such a slender boy he was surprisingly muscular, and it was hot that month, his shirts clinging to him with sweat until he finally discarded them and let his pale skin freckle and brown under the onslaught of sun and breeze. The way his muscles moved under his skin as he worked was a miracle of anatomy, a rediscovery of the capabilities of the human body every time she saw it, and it always led her train of thought down graphically indecent tracks.

And who could blame her?  It’s not like she had much else to do. By week three she’d already concluded that the cottage’s supply of shitty 80s fantasy novels wasn’t to her liking, and she didn’t have the patience to write a novel longhand. She had to look at something, and fortunately, Naoise was incredibly well-suited to ogling. 

H e never caught her. But she caught him, sometimes, looking at her when he thought she was distracted, and he had that soft smile again, and goddammit she might have thrown away her future for him, but what was an academic future compared to fucking this beautiful boy in every way that she could think of, and hearing the sweet melodic way he gasped that he loved her? What were essays and deadlines when she could tease her words into poetry and watch the way his face changed as she whispered them in his ear, so close her lips touched his skin? 

It was something. It was almost enough. 

But they were both very, very glad when the electrician got their power working and they could charge their phones for the first time in weeks.

And when Dee saw the forty messages she’d missed from Conall, his offer –  _i could come to yours –_ what she saw was opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my local library, where I wrote this chapter due to the Great WiFi Drought of August 2019. Sorry for the smut I'm likely to write while sitting in your charmingly air-conditioned and beWiFi'd building over the next week or two. I'll try and make sure there are no children nearby.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dee tells naoise about their guest and they discuss cutting-edge irish healthcare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m currently lacking in internet so may not be replying to comments quickly, but i’m still v grateful to receive them! also hit me up on tumblr (trans-cuchulainn) or twitter (@seneolas), ty

“Conall’s coming to stay, by the way.”

Naoise looked up just as the roots of the weed he was unearthing finally gave up, sending him tumbling backwards with the sudden loss of resistance. He was deposited inelegantly in the mud, where he sat for a moment looking utterly bewildered as to how this had happened. Or perhaps it was just that Dee’s words were only just registering.

Finally, he managed to say, “What?”

“Conall. Your cousin. Rides an alarmingly souped-up motorbike and seems to be allergic to capital letters in texts.”

“I know who Conall is,” said Naoise. “He’s coming here?”

“That’s what I said.”

“When?”

“Next week.” Dee sat down in the soil next to him, since he didn’t look like he was going to get up any time soon. “He was going to come for a couple of days on Friday, but I convinced him to come _after_ his trip to Glasgow instead of before. Gives us more time to make the place less disreputable, means he can stay more than a weekend.”

Naoise still looked astonished. “But – why?”

“Why not?” asked Dee, honestly perplexed.

He gestured to their surroundings. “Because there’s nothing to do here?”

“There’s a lot of weeding.”

“I’m not going to make a _guest_ weed the garden.” It wouldn’t have been funny, except for the genuinely scandalised expression on his face, the horror at doing something so inhospitable. “But seriously, what did you say to him to convince him to come?”

“Nothing. He _threatened_ to turn up unannounced on our doorstep to see if we were dead, because he hadn’t heard from us in weeks. Apparently Scáthach gave him our address.”

At that, Naoise’s face finally broke into the smile she’d been expecting since she broke the news. It spread as slowly as the sunrise over the mountains, seeping light chasing away the shadows. “Yeah, that sounds like Conall,” he said. “So he’s really coming?”

“He’s really coming.” She regarded Naoise for a moment, and then added, “You really think I’d lie about that? I know you miss them all.”

For a second, it looked like he might protest, claim that he didn’t, but he must have realised he couldn’t deny it. Dee had spent enough time hanging out with him where Naoise’s phone wouldn’t stop pinging with messages from his D&D group chat, ranging from innocuous scheduling discussions (which somehow always lasted three days and rarely resulted in a straight answer) to salacious gossip, via the obscurest memes any of them could find. She’d seen the way he snort-laughed at their messages – as well as the way he buried his face in his hands and then looked up at her to bewail the fact that his friends were idiots. Compared to Naoise, she’d left little behind in the way of close friends or support networks, and she wasn’t so oblivious not to realise that the loss of that connection was tough for him.

He put down the dismembered weed he was holding and said, very sincerely, “I’m glad. It’ll be nice to see him.” Then his face brightened and he said, “Maybe he’ll know how to get the WiFi set up!”

The internet had become a problem. It was extremely fucking stupid, Dee thought, that the main way to find information about different broadband packages was to _look online._ They couldn’t even get enough signal to use data, way out here; she had a theory that the mountains were screwing with it. And calling different providers might have worked, if the signal would stay stable long enough to get through the call – of which there was no guarantee – but how the hell were they meant to find out what numbers to call, without any internet? Who designed this system? For the first time in her life, she’d have been grateful for promotional junk mail pushed through the front door, but of course Virgin Media didn’t see any value in flyering cottages in the middle of nowhere that had been empty for the best part of a decade, because why the fuck would they?

One of these days she was going to have to ask the postman to take her back to Arnadale with him, before she gave up completely on the stupidity of modern life. Dee generally thought of herself as fairly competent and self-sufficient, but apparently that was only true when she had the internet at her fingertips and could look things up. Her ability to rewire a plug _had _come in handy, but she was desperately praying nothing more complicated came up with the wiring, because without a YouTube tutorial she’d be as likely to electrocute them all as to fix it.

Naoise might have hit on something, though. She took out her phone and texted Conall: _how much do you know about getting internet set up?_

A few moments later, his reply came through: _i have done it successfully on one (1) occasion so i guess you could say i’m an expert __😎_

Well, that was promising. She fired off another text: _makes you more of an expert than either of us. do you think you could help us? ironically it is proving super fucking hard to get internet set up without … already having the internet …_

Conall: _i can do my best _

“He’ll try and help,” she told Naoise, who threw his arms to the sky in a _hallelujah! _gesture, apparently forgetting that his hands were full of soil and liberally scattering it over both of them. “Anything else you need him to bring? He emphatically informed me that he isn’t a postman, but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

“… it’s Conall with a mercy package,” he finished. “How much do you think he can carry?”

“Depends how he’s getting here. I’m really hoping he’s not coming by bike.”

Naoise looked at the narrow, twisting road that ran along the hillside below their cottage and then wound its way further up the mountain, weaving higher and higher with every hairpin bend and overgrown passing place. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, “a motorbike might be the best way of navigating these roads, now that you come to mention it.”

It wasn’t that she thought a motorbike would be especially impractical, although it would seriously limit how much stuff Conall was able to bring with him, and also how effectively he could act as a chauffeur while he was there – the bike was chunky enough that at least one of them could ride pillion, but she didn’t think they’d all fit, and definitely not without finding themselves uncomfortably intimate. Which… well, Conall was a nice guy and decently handsome if you were into that kind of thing, but if Dee had to choose one of Naoise’s cousins to add to the party, he wouldn’t have been her first choice.

This was another train of thought she had not, and would never, share with Naoise. Even in an entirely cousin-free version of this scenario, it didn’t seem like something he’d be down with.

No, it was more that Conall on the motorbike was a menace. It wasn’t a small, lightweight bike. It was a petrol-guzzling monster, capable of outstripping most cars for speed, growling its deafening roar as he wheeled wildly around corners. It was his pride and joy, and though if you saw it parked, you’d think the rust on the metal meant it was uncared-for, the truth was that he spent most weekends tinkering with it. When you saw it in action, you’d realise that the metal was rusty because Conall wanted it that way: the rust and the blood-red paint and the snarl of the engine transformed it into some kind of hellbeast, hungry for blood and with absolutely no respect for speed limits, road laws, or personal safety.

Dee had been aware of Conall before meeting him, solely because of the bike – he was somewhat notorious on campus for his late-night rides and refusal to use a silencer. She’d always assumed he had a personality to match his driving, and when Naoise mentioned that it was his cousin who owned the bike, she’d been at a loss to work out how he could possibly belong to the same family tree. Then she’d seen Naoise drive (terrifying) and actually talked to Conall (surprisingly chill and friendly), and realised that yes, they were definitely related.

Of course, Naoise seemed to be related to half the campus, so that shouldn’t really have been a surprise. She’d wondered once how he possibly kept track of them all, but then someone shared with her the rumour that Conall once dated one of his own cousins by mistake, and concluded that none of them were even trying to keep track anymore, they were just bumbling through life and hoping not to marry someone with too high a degree of consanguinity.

Since Naoise was too covered in mud to operate his phone, she took hers out again: _out of interest, how are you getting to us?_

Conall: _much car, very ferry, wow._

Dee: _…_

Conall: _i drive to boat, i drive onto boat, i go across water, i stay in glasgow for a while, i drive many many miles to mallaig, i drive onto boat, i go across water…_

Dee: _no bike then?_

Conall: _can’t fit a suitcase on the bike. and i figured you would PROBABLY want me to wear clothes while i’m staying with you, so, you know, i thought i might actually pack some. _

Dee: _thank god  
_Dee: _nobody wants to see that _

Conall: _wow rude _

Conall: _also i’m meant to be meeting some people in glasgow, that’s like… the whole reason i was in scotland in the first place. i’m not doing this just for you. you’re not special, dee_

Dee: _I’m very special _

“He’s coming by car,” she reported to Naoise. “So, if there’s anything you need him to bring, speak now or forever hold your peace. I think he’s leaving tonight.” She hadn’t yet had any progress updates from Conall regarding her… request, and was beginning to think he wouldn’t be able to follow through on it. But maybe he was going to look while he was in Glasgow. Was there a shop there? She felt sure there must be. Possibly even several. Perhaps it was easier to walk into a physical store and buy things like that when it was for someone else, and you had the plausible deniability of being able to say it wasn’t for you. They might even believe him, given that anything that worked for Dee was unlikely to work for Conall simply because of the plumbing involved.

Naoise was looking at her strangely, and she realised she’d got distracted. Was she blushing? Her face felt hot, but it was hard to tell if that was embarrassment or the summer sun beating down, unusually warm for this far north. “What?”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” said Naoise.

“Sure I did. You said, er…”

“I said that if he’s on such friendly terms with Scáthach, he should go and pick up some of our stuff. I don’t know about you, but I’d love to have more than five t-shirts, even now that we can use the washing machine.”

Dee: _how do you feel about trying to fit as much of our stuff in your car as possible_

Conall: _wait where is your stuff now_

Dee: _in Scáthach’s shed _

Conall: _but she’s scary :(_

Dee: _you’re a big guy_

Conall: _yeah and she’s got connections to the mob_

Dee: _I’m pretty sure she doesn’t _

Conall: _she could kill me with her little toe, dee_

Dee: _she’s not going to kill you_

“He’s scared of Scáthach,” she reported to Naoise.

“Incredibly valid,” he responded. “I was too, when I moved into her flat. Then I got the flu and she came round to check on me. I don’t even know who told her I was sick, but it’s hard to be scared of someone after they’ve taken your temperature every six hours for three days and given you more flat 7up than you know what to do with.”

Dee laughed. “Seriously? She didn’t think soup or cold meds might be more useful?”

Naoise looked offended at the suggestion. “Flat 7up cures everything, Dee.”

“Says who?”

“Says _everyone._ It Is Known.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I don’t have flu anymore and I’m still alive, so arguably, yes.”

Dee: _Scáthach thinks flat 7up cures the flu, I don’t think you need to be scared of her_

Conall: _well she’s right isn’t she _

Dee: _is this really a universal thing??_

Conall: _how was this not a staple of your childhood  
_Conall: _what kind of an upbringing did you have _

Dee: _my parents were whole-foods hippies before it was cool, Conall, I didn’t get processed drinks like that  
_Dee: _I got, like, nettle tea and shit _

Conall: _huh_  
Conall: _that explains so much about you  
_Conall: _are you even vaccinated?_

Dee: _duh. they’re hippies, not irresponsible_

Well, not irresponsible in _that _regard, anyway. They’d probably neglected a few important aspects of her childhood, and maybe she’d spent too much time on her own; she’d been quick to walk but slow to talk, mostly because there were places to go but there was nobody to talk _to_ a lot of the time.

She didn’t begrudge them their distraction. They’d not exactly _asked_ to have a baby foisted on them, and they’d never planned for a lifestyle that involved a child. But they were technically her godparents and, well, shit happens; it was that or put her into care, and nobody wanted to do that. They did their best, in the circumstances.

Her phone buzzed again.

Conall: _honestly i’m impressed that scáthach’s twigged that one  
_Conall: _didn’t realise that secret of irish medicine had reached scotland, she’s truly gone native after all these years of living here_

Dee: _what I’m saying is, will you get our clothes from her shed, please_

Conall: _FINE. some of them. if i can do so and not miss my ferry. but damn, woman, you’re hard work._

Dee: _but worth it _

Conall: _whatever you say_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i channelling some of my frustration at not currently having wifi into this chapter? QUITE POSSIBLY.
> 
> conall’s motorbike is heavily based on his terrifying monster horse in the original texts. that thing eats people. it’s scary. 
> 
> some notes on realism: i’ve been to skye once, so the geography is, uhhhh, flexible. i imagine them being somewhere not too far from dunscaith castle (a ruin that’s supposed to be scáthach’s fort, i.e. where cú chulainn learned to be a warrior), which is down the same end of the island as arnadale and sabhal mòr ostaig (part of the university of the highlands and islands). mostly because that’s the only bit of skye i’ve been to, but also it seems appropriate, because y’know, scáthach. they are, however, on a mountain rather than somewhere more populated, and my limited experience of skye does confirm the roads to be very twisty. 
> 
> oh, and there is more than one sex toy shop in glasgow. i googled it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conall tries to research options to fulfil Dee’s request, and is horrified by what he finds. Also everyone is kinkshaming Fergus tbh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re getting into more NSFW territory now, just so you’re warned. there’s still no actual smut (it’ll come eventually! as will naoise lmao), but there’s a fair bit of conversation you probably wouldn’t want your boss to read over your shoulder *shrug*

Conall: _jesus mary and joseph are you sure these aren’t instruments of torture_  
Conall: _why would you put that anywhere near your junk_  
Conall: _like surely that must hurt_  
Conall: _also_  
Conall: _what’s the deal with_  
Conall: _tentacles _  
Conall: _why are there so many tentacles dee i don’t understand. why is that a thing anybody wants.  
_Conall: _this one’s not even a dick. it’s just. a dragon. just stick an entire dragon up yourself, why the fuck not_

Dee: …  
Dee: _okay, WHERE are you looking right now_

Conall: _on the internet!!! i figured i should do some preliminary research before I make a total fool of myself in front of some poor shop assistant but i GRAVELY MISJUDGED how this would go  
_Conall: _i did not realise there was so much… variety. _

Dee: _how have you hung around Fergus for this many years and yet maintained this level of innocence _

Conall: _by never listening to a word he says, frankly, and by never opening any of his drawers_

Dee: _even in the kitchen?_

Conall: _GOD_  
Conall: _you don’t understand, dee. i lived with him for like three whole months and it was. so much. never again.  
_Conall: _please tell me you do not want… a dragon_

Dee: _Conall._

Conall: _I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE_

Dee: _please exit Bad Dragon immediately, Conall _

Conall: _…_  
Conall: _how did you know_  
Conall: _are you telling me you’ve_  
Conall: _you’ve_  
Conall: _DEE_

Dee: _okay remember last Christmas when Fergus bought everyone miniature novelty dildos for Secret Santa except we all knew it was him?_

Conall: _yes and wasn’t that fun to explain to lendabair when she found it in my room  
_Conall: _but mine was… not a dragon…_

Dee: _I think he took pity on you _

Conall: _did he give you one?_

Dee: _yes, but then he apologised afterwards_  
Dee: _he told me I didn’t need a miniature dildo because I had Big Dick Energy  
_Dee: _I had known him roughly three months at this point, so that was. interesting._

Conall: _lmao _

Dee: _anyway I asked him where he managed to get so many tiny dicks because. frankly. it was hilarious._  
Dee: _and after he told me, I looked it up  
_Dee: _I assumed that there was only one place you could find a dildo that’s literally just a dragon although I may be wrong about that, the internet is a vast and depraved place_

Conall: _you ain’t wrong _

Dee: _I do not want you to get me something from there  
_Dee: _please. _

Conall: _okay good  
_Conall: _i don’t think i can look at any more of. those._

Dee: _if you’d like to scar yourself further I can send you down some deeply terrible internet spirals with a pointed recommendation or two_

Conall: _no thank you  
_Conall: _i preferred not knowing this shit_

Dee: _haha_

Conall: _FUCK_

Dee: _what_

Conall: _fergus knew where to get us those tiny dicks _

Dee: _yes _

Conall: _so he.  
_Conall: _fergus_

Dee: _I wouldn’t think about it too hard if I were you _

Conall: _i’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again without wondering if he owns a tentacle dildo, dee  
_Conall: _why have you done this _

Dee: _tbf I didn’t know you’d jump straight in at the deep end with your internet research_  
Dee: _it’s a little bit adorable that you’re so horrified, especially given that to hear Lendabair talk you’re … not exactly inexperienced _

Conall: _…_  
Conall: _when the fuck did you and lendabair hang out  
_Conall: _you guys have met like twice _

Dee: 🤷♀️

Conall: _no seriously _

Dee: _it was at Láeg’s birthday party. she was drunk, I was drunk, we were complimenting each other in the bathroom_  
Dee: _she wouldn’t stop talking about you_  
Dee: _she really loves you _

Conall: _okay that’s very sweet but seriously?! you talked about our sex life???_

Dee: _I mean she didn’t exactly go into details but  
_Dee: _it was clear she wasn’t unhappy _

Conall: _jfc _

Dee: _she was very drunk, Conall _

Conall: _i know, she threw up afterwards and i had to carry her home_

Dee: _look when I asked you to do this, I assumed that, since you guys have been together for a couple of years now, you wouldn’t be going in completely blind  
_Dee: _evidently I was wrong _

Conall: _yes???_  
Conall: _why would we need_  
Conall: _i can’t even finish this sentence  
_Conall: _YOU THOUGHT_

Dee: _there’s literally no need to be this horrified Conall_  
Dee: _we get it, you’re vanilla and you own it, I’m not shaming_  
Dee: _each to their own_  
Dee: _I’m just a little surprised, that’s all _

Conall: _why would that surprise you?!_

Dee: _your motorbike_

Conall: _what?!_

Dee: _you clearly like things loud, fast, and highly-powered_

Conall: _dee?  
_Conall: _never say those words to me again _

Dee: _you’re missing out_

Conall: _given what i’ve seen on the internet today i’m really not sure that i am_

Dee: _as you wish _

Conall: _so if i shouldn’t look here, where SHOULD i look_  
Conall: _and if you send me somewhere that’s going to scar me for life, be warned that i will very shortly be in a position to murder you should i so desire and NOBODY WOULD EVER FIND THE BODY _

Dee: _well let’s bear in mind that this is Naoise we’re talking about_

Conall: _yes thank you i’m all too aware that it’s my baby cousin you’re intent on ravishing _

Dee: _everyone is your cousin, Conall  
_Dee: _you DATED your cousin_

Conall: _THAT WAS ONE TIME_

Dee: _I still don’t think you get to be prim about me fucking your cousin_

Conall: _please tell me you’re going somewhere with this_

Dee: _I mean.  
_Dee: _you’ve met Naoise, haven’t you?_

Conall: _why yes we are acquainted_

Dee: _so he’s. quite delicate_  
Dee: _don’t get me wrong, he’s pretty strong  
_Dee: _but he’s not a big dude, you know?_

Conall: _… yes_

Dee: _and this is new  
_Dee: _so we’re going to need to take it slow_

Conall: _i really hope that ‘we’ was you and naoise because i resent the idea that i’m even slightly involved here_

Dee: _it was DEFINITELY me and Naoise _

Conall: _thank god for that _

Dee: _so  
_Dee: _you see where I’m going with this _

Conall: _unfortunately, yes  
_Conall: _naoise has a tight arse, is that what you’re saying _

Dee: _…  
_Dee: _you said it, not me. _

Conall: _dear god._

Dee: _also, I don’t want to scare him off_

Conall: _he flED THE COUNTRY WITH YOU, DEE, HE’S NOT GONNA RUN OFF BC YOU WANT TO PEG HIM_

Dee: _it’s not that I think he’ll run off, I just. don’t want this to be like… traumatic _

Conall: _i mean you would surely know better than me but i feel like he can probably take it_  
Conall: _pun intended _  
Conall: _you know, i was genuinely surprised to find out he was straight_

Dee: _well no one else in the family seems to be  
_Dee: _maybe he got the one straight gene_

Conall:_ that would explain a lot_

Dee: _the real question is who got the braincell _

Conall: _…  
_Conall: _probably cú chulainn, i’ll be honest. he’s a tiny genius. you haven’t met him yet, he’s the real baby. littler than naoise. i think he’s seventeen now. skipped a year or two of school somewhere, so it’s easy to lose track _

Dee: _oh god there are more of you _

Conall: _this family tree just keeps on branching, babe _

Dee: _and the baby has the braincell?_

Conall: _possibly it went through each of us in turn and then stopped when it got to him because there was nowhere else for it to go _

Dee: _sounds perfectly reasonable _

Conall: _otherwise, i’d guess cormac, but i’m not sure if what he’s got are brains or just, like, concentrated stubbornness _  
Conall: _anyway if it’s something small you’re wanting, fergus already gave you a tiny dick _

Dee: _… _

Conall: _don’t look at me like that _

Dee: _I’m several hundred miles away, Conall_

Conall: _yeah but i can sense the way you’re looking at your phone and i feel Judged_

Dee: _okay well  
_Dee: _firstly, when I FLED THE COUNTRY I did not exactly stop to pack the novelty dildo my boyfriend’s friend from D&D bought me last Christmas, it wasn’t really high on the list of priorities _

Conall: _are you trying to tell me there’s a tiny dick in Scáthach’s shed right now _

Dee: …  
Dee: _probably two, given that naoise got one too_

Conall: _lmao wow_

Dee: _SECONDLY, you know those things aren’t safe for use, right??? they’re novelty toys  
_Dee: _thirdly, Naoise is not actually THAT small, thank you _

Conall: _okay, too much information _

Dee: _look just go to lovehoney or something and see what they recommend for beginners, that should give you some ideas_

Conall: _they’re potentially not ideas i want to have _

Dee: _also lube_  
Dee: _don’t forget that  
_Dee: _I don’t want to have to take a fanfic route with this _

Conall: _i’m not even going to ask for clarification there because i don’t want to know what that sentence means_

Dee: _just don’t forget the lube _

Conall: _i still feel like you should maybe mention this to naoise in advance_  
Conall: _give the poor boy some warning _  
Conall: _time to emotionally prepare, and all that _

Dee: _aww, it’s like you don’t know him at all _

Conall: …  
Conall: _again, i’m just not even going to ask for clarification _

Dee: _he likes hozier, conall  
_Dee: _trust me, he’ll be into it _

Conall: _WELL THANK YOU FOR ENSURING I WILL NEVER HEAR ‘TAKE ME TO CHURCH’ THE SAME WAY AGAIN_  
Conall: _I DIDN’T NEED THIS  
_Conall: _I DIDN’T NEED ANY OF THIS _

Dee: _I didn’t need to leave the country but here we are_

Conall: _WOW_  
Conall: _did you just. emotionally blackmail me into getting you a dick _

Dee: _did it work?_

Conall: _I ALREADY TOLD YOU I’D DO IT, THERE’S NO NEED TO TORMENT ME FURTHER_  
Conall: _thanks for making me think about naoise’s arsehole, dee  
_Conall: _i’m so glad i’ve got that thought in my brain somewhere. that’s just. exactly what i always wanted._

Dee: _lmao_

Conall: _and i stg you’d better be nice to me or i’ll enlist fergus to help me choose_

Dee: _do not _

Conall: _i will _

Dee: _I am suddenly being very nice to you _

Conall: _not a moment too soon_

Dee: _when was I mean to you_

Conall: _WHEN YOU MADE ME THINK ABOUT YOU AND NAOISE FUCKING TO HOZIER SO THAT NOW THAT’S ALL I’M GOING TO THINK ABOUT WHEN I HEAR IT_  
Conall: _HE’S MY COUSIN, DEE  
_Conall: _YOU JUST MADE ‘MOVEMENT’ UNSEXY. CONGRATS. I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS POSSIBLE. _

Dee: _adkkdsdlfldks  
_Dee: _I’m dying_

Conall: _GOOD. YOU DESERVE IT._  
Conall: _ugh_  
Conall:_ this has all been horrifying enough, now i have to go and get your stuff from scáthach  
_Conall: _into the dragon’s den I go…_

Dee: _we thank you for your brave service _

Conall: _fucking right you do, you cursed little menace _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of the dildos mentioned in this chapter do genuinely exist, including the tiny novelty dildos. i know this because the idea that fergus bought them for the gang for christmas was, again, one of the inspirations for this fic. look, the muddle ages goes in Cursed directions sometimes, and i just follow where it leads me. conall’s reaction is, however, more or less based on my own reaction to bad dragon, so…
> 
> re: use of source material: lendabair is conall’s wife in most of the stories (but yeah, he does marry his cousin in one story, lmao). she’s his biggest cheerleader and loves to talk about how great he is. on page, conall is never sexualised (certainly not in the way fergus is), but… he has a LOT of kids, so clearly he’s doing the do with a fair amount of regularity. i hc them both as bi since none of the ulaid are straight in this fic except for naoise


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naoise and dee prepare for conall's imminent arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I intentionally delaying the smut? of course I’m delaying the smut, I’m a coward

“He’s your cousin, Naoise.” Dee was lying upside-down across the sofa, legs dangling over the back of it, eyes closed. “He’s not going to judge you if you haven’t, like, polished the skirting boards.”

“It’s not about whether or not he judges me.”

She opened one eye. An upside-down, red-faced Naoise dragged in the heavy old vacuum cleaner from the hallway and stood glaring at it, a cloth tucked into his belt and a smear of dust across the front of his black t-shirt. Dee watched him struggle for a second longer before heaving her legs off the back of the sofa and spinning around into an upright position. The tableau made a lot more sense when it was the right way around.

“He’s like ten years older than you,” she said, folding her arms and making absolutely no effort to help out.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“So, whether or not the house is clean will not change his opinion of you, because you are always going to be his baby cousin. I mean, he probably saw you running naked around the garden as a child.”

“Eight years,” said Naoise. “And I didn’t – I wasn’t – he has _not_, and anyway that’s not the point.”

“You’re after cleaning the whole damn house, Nish.” She patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Sit. Chill out. I know it offends all your hospitality instincts not to have the place polished and gleaming, but seriously, he will not care. He’s been driving for like, a million hours, he’ll just be glad to get out of the car.”

Naoise glared at her. She’d thought inviting Conall to stay would cheer him up, give him something to look forward to. Instead it seemed to have activated every anxious nerve in his body, until he’d worked himself into a cleaning-related frenzy as if the mere prospect of an imminent visitor was enough to cause him to develop a spontaneous and life-threatening allergy to dust.

She also had the sneaking suspicion this was actually what a happy Naoise looked like.

“It’s not even our house,” she added, and finally he gave in, abandoning the vacuum cleaner and flopping down onto the sofa next to her. Immediately she swivelled, colonising his lap with her head. You’d expect a skinny bastard like him to be made entirely of bones, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

He hesitated a moment, then began to run his long, clever musician’s fingers through her hair. The touch of his fingertips against her scalp made her shiver, some fidgety part of her for once going still. “I just…” he began, then stopped, searching for words. “I don’t want him to feel sorry for us, Dee. It’s bad enough that he’s coming to visit us out of – out of _pity_.”

Dee’s eyes had just begun to close, but they snapped open at that. “What makes you think it’s out of pity?” she said.

“He’s got a car full of our clothes.”

“Just because he wants to help, doesn’t mean he _pities_ us.” She closed her eyes again and settled in. “He misses you. Us. And you know what Conall’s like. If he wasn’t coming here he’d be going somewhere else and begging someone else for a sofa to sleep on. He knows we’ve got a spare room and he hasn’t been to Skye in years.”

Naoise made an unconvinced sound. “I don’t know. I just feel like… the way we left, everyone…”

“Spit it out.”

“Everyone already gave up so much for us, Dee.”

So it was guilt, then. She knew the feeling. Not having the internet was the only thing stopping her spending the evenings in a spiral of self-loathing as she scoured her friends’ social media pages for signs that she’d irrevocably ruined their lives. She felt even worse about it considering that Fergus and Cormac hardly even knew _her_; they were doing it for Naoise. She was just incidental to the whole thing. And yet it was because of her that—

_It was because of Conchobar,_ she reminded herself. She often had to remind herself of that. She sometimes felt weirdly… _ashamed_ of how easy it was to slip into blaming herself. Like she was buying into some shitty societal lie that put the whole thing on her, and that meant she’d never really stopped believing that about anyone else either. Like someone was knocking points off a cosmic score and she’d end up in the Bad Feminist Place, or whatever.

If she told Naoise that, he’d just look at her blankly and say, _But it wasn’t your fault, _as if he couldn’t fathom why she’d blame herself in the first place.

She sighed. His fingers in her hair stilled. “What is it?” he asked, voice softer.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just… look, Conall wanted to come. This whole thing was his idea. He wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want to. And as for the others… we’ll make it up to them eventually. I don’t know how, but we will.”

“I guess so.”

She sat up then, so suddenly that he flinched backwards to avoid getting headbutted in the chin, and curled up on the sofa next to him. He was still tense, shoulders hunched, but she nudged him until he relaxed enough to let her snuggle close next to him.

“Look,” she said. “You’re overthinking this. But it’s going to be okay. Conall will help us set up the internet, and we’ll be able to _talk_ to the others again. Then you won’t have to feel so much like you left them in the lurch.” Maybe if he could just skype his cousins, he’d stop feeling so much guilt about abandoning them. “And we’ll finally have more than five shirts to wear.”

Naoise huffed a small laugh. “Okay, that part I’m looking forward to.” She pulled back just in time to see his wicked smile: “Even if I have been enjoying laundry day.”

Ah yes, laundry day. The day when it became perfectly acceptable to wander around in the bare minimum of clothes required for safety or warmth, which at this time of year had generally been ‘not very many’. Not that they operated a strict clothing policy the rest of the time, and whatever they were wearing at the start of the day had frequently found itself being removed much earlier than might have been expected, but still. Laundry day was special. Laundry day was bare-skin-as-default. Laundry day was unapologetic ogling and only being _slightly_ embarrassed about being caught at it.

Apparently, sometimes the ogler may also be being ogled.

Dee elbowed him. “You depraved sinner, you.”

He elbowed back. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

And he didn’t even _know_.

Should she tell him? She wanted to tell him. She didn’t know how she was going to bring it up otherwise. What if she left it to the last minute, and then it turned out she’d misjudged and he was absolutely not into the idea, and it ended up killing the mood or making things really awkward? Maybe she should get it out there now, just so that she’d know for sure how it would go down. But what if Conall hadn’t succeeded? She’d had no updates from him, no sign that he was actually bringing what she’d asked for. If she brought it up and then it didn’t work out, she’d—

“You’ve disappeared again,” said Naoise. “I can tell. You’ve got that look on your face like your thoughts are a few miles away.”

Her thoughts were simultaneously somewhere en route from Glasgow, and also in his pants. She gave him a smile. “Just thinking about sinning,” she said lightly, and he blushed in a way that suggested his own thoughts hadn’t been too far from the subject.

“I—” He broke off. “I was thinking, the – the spare room, it’s—”

Dee frowned. “What about it?”

“It’s right next to ours.”

It took a moment for the significance of this to sink in. When it did: “Ah.”

“I mean, it’s not like I think Conall is a prude, but—”

“You’d be surprised,” she interrupted, under her breath.

“What?”

“I said you’d be surprised what Conall is or is not comfortable with.”

Naoise’s look was mostly bafflement, but she caught a hint of something that might have been outrage. Possibly suspicion. Certainly it wasn’t a happy emotion. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” he said flatly.

“Look, I’m just saying, I always _assumed_ he was a bit more adventurous and it turns out I was wrong.”

“Did you try and seduce my cousin?!”

“What? Jesus fuck, no.” She had to laugh at the expression on his face – the momentary horror, the sheer relief, as if he’d really thought for one second that she’d… “No, I just. Discovered this. By accident. While talking to him.”

“You were talking to Conall about sex.”

“I mean. A little bit.”

“_Why_.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re not dating him? Because he has a girlfriend? Because he’s my cousin?!” This wasn’t anger – she’d seen Naoise angry. But he was confused and he wasn’t happy about it, and Dee felt a pang of guilt for the first time. Maybe all of this was a bad idea. Maybe she should have talked to him about it _first_.

“None of those things mean we can’t have a _conversation_,” she said, trying not to sound confrontational about it.

“But why could you possibly need to talk to him about anything even vaguely related to sex?”

“Because I asked him to bring me a strap-on when he came to visit, that’s _why_!”

It slipped out. She’d definitely been planning to work up to it. Gradually build towards the idea. Not just lob it at Naoise like a verbal brick and have to watch as the words hit, settled in, and began to diffuse. His expression went very blank, all emotion wiped away, leaving only the colours: the black of his hair, the white of his skin, the red flush on his cheekbones which, far from draining away as his anger dissipated, was only intensifying as he processed the implications of what she’d just said.

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

“You… asked him to bring you a strap-on,” said Naoise finally. Faintly.

It was stupid to blush. Why should she be embarrassed about this? They’d been fucking for months. It wasn’t like they had anything left to hide from each other. They knew each other’s bodies intimately – had mapped them with fingertips and reverent lips until they knew the pathway traced by every vein beneath the skin.

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “I did.”

He swallowed. She could see his Adam’s apple shifting nervously under the soft translucent skin of his neck, and remembered how his cousins had mocked him the first time she left a mark – and how he’d refused to wear a scarf all week, despite the snow on the ground, the small bruise lurid against the winter greys. He wore it like a crown..

_Mine,_ she thought when she saw him there.

_Mine_, she thought now, as she’d thought a dozen times every day since they came here.

_Mine?_

He swallowed again. Finally, his voice hoarse, he said, “Did he say yes?”


End file.
